"Why have you come for me _now_?"
"You were born under my care. How can I help coming for you?" said the Crab, wearily. Every human being whom the Crab killed had asked that same question.
"But I was just beginning to know what my songs were doing," said Leo.
"Perhaps that is why," said the Crab, and the grip tightened.
"You said you would not come till I had taken the world by the shoulders," gasped Leo, falling back.
"I always keep my word. You have done that three times, with three songs. What more do you desire?"
"Let me live to see the world know it," pleaded Leo. "Let me be sure that my songs----"
"Make men brave?" said the Crab. "Even then there would be one man who was afraid. The Girl was braver than you are. Come."
Leo was standing close to the restless, insatiable mouth. "I forgot,"
said he, simply. "The Girl was braver. But I am a G.o.d too, and I am not afraid."
"What is that to me?" said the Crab.
Then Leo"s speech was taken from him, and he lay still and dumb, watching Death till he died.
Leo was the last of the Children of the Zodiac. After his death there sprang up a breed of little mean men, whimpering and flinching and howling because the Houses killed them and theirs, who wished to live forever without any pain. They did not increase their lives, but they increased their own torments miserably, and there were no Children of the Zodiac to guide them, and the greater part of Leo"s songs were lost.
Only he had carved on the Girl"s tombstone the last verse of the Song of the Girl, which stands at the head of this story.
One of the children of men, coming thousands of years later, rubbed away the lichen, read the lines, and applied them to a trouble other than the one Leo meant. Being a man, men believed that he had made the verses himself; but they belong to Leo, the Child of the Zodiac, and teach, as he taught, that what comes or does not come, we must not be afraid.
III
THE BRIDGE BUILDERS
The least that Findlayson, of the Public Works Department, expected was a C.I.E.; he dreamed of a C.S.I.: indeed his friends told him that he deserved more. For three years he had endured heat and cold, disappointment, discomfort, danger, and disease, with responsibility almost too heavy for one pair of shoulders; and day by day, through that time, the great Kashi Bridge over the Ganges had grown under his charge. Now, in less than three months, if all went well, His Excellency the Viceroy would open the bridge in state, an archbishop would bless it, the first train-load of soldiers would come over it, and there would be speeches.
Findlayson, C. E., sat in his trolley on a construction-line that ran along one of the main revetments--the huge, stone-faced banks that flared away north and south for three miles on either side of the river--and permitted himself to think of the end. With its approaches, his work was one mile and three-quarters in length; a lattice-girder bridge, trussed with the Findlayson truss, standing on seven-and-twenty brick piers. Each one of those piers was twenty-four feet in diameter, capped with red Agra stone and sunk eighty feet below the shifting sand of the Ganges" bed.
Above them ran the railway-line fifteen feet broad; above that, again, a cart-road of eighteen feet, flanked with footpaths. At either end rose towers of red brick, loopholed for musketry and pierced for big guns, and the ramp of the road was being pushed forward to their haunches. The raw earth-ends were crawling and alive with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny a.s.ses climbing out of the yawning borrow-pit below with sackfuls of stuff; and the hot afternoon air was filled with the noise of hooves, the rattle of the drivers" sticks, and the swish and roll-down of the dirt. The river was very low, and on the dazzling white sand between the three centre piers stood squat cribs of railway-sleepers, filled within and daubed without with mud, to support the last of the girders as those were riveted up. In the little deep water left by the drought, an overhead-crane travelled to and fro along its spile-pier, jerking sections of iron into place, snorting and backing and grunting as an elephant grunts in the timber-yard. Riveters by the hundred swarmed about the lattice side-work and the iron roof of the railway-line, hung from invisible staging under the bellies of the girders, cl.u.s.tered round the throats of the piers, and rode on the overhang of the footpath-stanchions; their fire-pots and the spurts of flame that answered each hammer-stroke showing no more than pale yellow in the sun"s glare. East and west and north and south the construction-trains rattled and shrieked up and down the embankments, the piled trucks of brown and white stone banging behind them till the side-boards were unpinned, and with a roar and a grumble a few thousand tons more material were thrown out to hold the river in place.
Findlayson, C. E., turned on his trolley and looked over the face of the country that he had changed for seven miles around. Looked back on the humming village of five thousand workmen; up stream and down, along the vista of spurs and sand; across the river to the far piers, lessening in the haze; overhead to the guard-towers--and only he knew how strong those were--and with a sigh of contentment saw that his work was good. There stood his bridge before him in the sunlight, lacking only a few weeks"
work on the girders of the three middle piers--his bridge, raw and ugly as original sin, but _pukka_--permanent--to endure when all memory of the builder, yea, even of the splendid Findlayson truss, had perished.
Practically, the thing was done.
Hitchc.o.c.k, his a.s.sistant, cantered along the line on a little switch-tailed Kabuli pony, who, through long practice, could have trotted securely over a trestle, and nodded to his chief.
"All but," said he, with a smile.
"I"ve been thinking about it," the senior answered, "Not half a bad job for two men, is it?" "One--and a half. "Gad, what a Cooper"s Hill cub I was when I came on the works!" Hitchc.o.c.k felt very old in the crowded experiences of the past three years, that had taught him power and responsibility.
"You _were_ rather a colt," said Findlayson. "I wonder how you"ll like going back to office work when this job"s over."
"I shall hate it!" said the young man, and as he went on his eye followed Findlayson"s, and he muttered, "Is n"t it good?"
"I think we"ll go up the service together," Findlayson said to himself. "You"re too good a youngster to waste on another man. Cub thou wast; a.s.sistant thou art. Personal a.s.sistant, and at Simla, thou shalt be, if any credit comes to me out of the business!"
Indeed, the burden of the work had fallen altogether on Findlayson and his a.s.sistant, the young man whom he had chosen because of his rawness to break to his own needs. There were labour-contractors by the half-hundred--fitters and riveters, European, borrowed from the railway workshops, with perhaps twenty white and half-caste subordinates to direct, under direction, the bevies of workmen--but none knew better than these two, who trusted each other, how the underlings were not to be trusted. They had been tried many times in sudden crises--by slipping of booms, by breaking of tackle, failure of cranes, and the wrath of the river--but no stress had brought to light any man among them whom Findlayson and Hitchc.o.c.k would have honoured by working as remorselessly as they worked themselves.
Findlayson thought it over from the beginning: the months of office work destroyed at a blow when the Government of India, at the last moment, added two feet to the width of the bridge, under the impression that bridges were cut out of paper, and so brought to ruin at least half an acre of calculations--and Hitchc.o.c.k, new to disappointment, buried his head in his arms and wept; the heart-breaking delays over the filling of the contracts in England; the futile correspondences hinting at great wealth of commission if one, only one, rather doubtful consignment were pa.s.sed; the war that followed the refusal; the careful, polite obstruction at the other end that followed the war, till young Hitchc.o.c.k, putting one month"s leave to another month, and borrowing ten days from Findlayson, spent his poor little savings of a year in a wild dash to London, and there, as his own tongue a.s.serted, and the later consignments proved, put the Fear of G.o.d into a man so great that he feared only Parliament, and said so till Hitchc.o.c.k wrought with him across his own dinner-table, and--he feared the Kashi Bridge and all who spoke in its name. Then there was the cholera that came in the night to the village by the bridge-works; and after the cholera smote the small-pox. The fever they had always with them. Hitchc.o.c.k had been appointed a magistrate of the third cla.s.s with whipping powers, for the better government of the community, and Findlayson watched him wield his powers temperately, learning what to overlook and what to look after. It was a long, long reverie, and it covered storm, sudden freshets, death in every manner and shape, violent and awful rage against red tape half frenzying a mind that knows it should be busy on other things; drought, sanitation, finance; birth, wedding, burial, and riot in the village of twenty warring castes; argument, expostulation, persuasion, and the blank despair that a man goes to bed upon, thankful that his rifle is all in pieces in the gun-case. Behind everything rose the black frame of the Kashi Bridge--plate by plate, girder by girder, span by span--and each pier of it recalled Hitchc.o.c.k, the all-round man, who had stood by his chief without failing from the very first to this last. So the bridge was two men"s work--unless one counted Peroo, as Peroo certainly counted himself. He was a lascar, a Kharva from Bulsar, familiar with every port between Rockhampton and London, who had risen to the rank of serang on the British India boats, but wearying of routine musters and clean clothes, had thrown up the service and gone inland, where men of his calibre were sure of employment. For his knowledge of tackle and the handling of heavy weights, Peroo was worth almost any price he might have chosen to put upon his services; but custom decreed the wage of the overhead-men, and Peroo was not within many silver pieces of his proper value.
Neither running water nor extreme heights made him afraid; and, as an ex-serang, he knew how to hold authority. No piece of iron was so big or so badly placed that Peroo could not devise a tackle to lift it--a loose-ended, sagging arrangement, rigged with a scandalous amount of talking, but perfectly equal to the work in hand. It was Peroo who had saved the girder of Number Seven Pier from destruction when the new wire rope jammed in the eye of the crane, and the huge plate tilted in its slings, threatening to slide out sideways. Then the native workmen lost their heads with great shoutings, and Hitchc.o.c.k"s right arm was broken by a falling T-plate, and he b.u.t.toned it up in his coat and swooned, and came to and directed for four hours till Peroo, from the top of the crane reported, "All"s well," and the plate swung home.
There was no one like Peroo, serang, to lash and guy and hold, to control the donkey-engines, to hoist a fallen locomotive craftily out of the borrow-pit into which it had tumbled; to strip and dive, if need be, to see how the concrete blocks round the piers stood the scouring of Mother Gunga, or to adventure up-stream on a monsoon night and report on the state of the embankment-facings. He would interrupt the field-councils of Findlayson and Hitchc.o.c.k without fear, till his wonderful English, or his still more wonderful _lingua-franca_, half Portuguese and half Malay, ran out and he was forced to take string and show the knots that he would recommend. He controlled his own gang of tacklemen--mysterious relatives from Kutch Mandvi gathered month by month and tried to the uttermost. No consideration of family or kin allowed Peroo to keep weak hands or a giddy head on the pay-roll. "My honour is the honour of this bridge," he would say to the about-to-be dismissed. "What do I care for your honour? Go and work on a steamer.
That is all you are fit for."
The little cl.u.s.ter of huts where he and his gang lived centred round the tattered dwelling of a sea-priest--one who had never set foot on Black Water, but had been chosen as ghostly counsellor by two generations of sea-rovers, all unaffected by port missions or those creeds which are thrust upon sailors by agencies along Thames" bank.
The priest of the lascars had nothing to do with their caste, or indeed with anything at all. He ate the offerings of his church, and slept and smoked, and slept again, "for," said Peroo, who had haled him a thousand miles inland, "he is a very holy man. He never cares what you eat so long as you do not eat beef, and that is good, because on land we worship Shiva, we Kharvas; but at sea on the k.u.mpani"s boats we attend strictly to the orders of the Burra Malum (the first mate), and on this bridge we observe what Finlinson Sahib says."
Findlayson Sahib had that day given orders to clear the scaffolding from the guard-tower on the right bank, and Peroo with his mates was casting loose and lowering down the bamboo poles and planks as swiftly as ever they had whipped the cargo out of a coaster.
From his trolley he could hear the whistle of the serang"s silver pipe and the creak and clatter of the pulleys. Peroo was standing on the topmost coping of the tower, clad in the blue dungaree of his abandoned service, and as Findlayson motioned to him to be careful, for his was no life to throw away, he gripped the last pole, and, shading his eyes ship-fashion, answered with the long-drawn wail of the fo"c"sle lookout: "_Ham dekhta hai_" ("I am looking out").
Findlayson laughed, and then sighed. It was years since he had seen a steamer, and he was sick for home. As his trolley pa.s.sed under the tower, Peroo descended by a rope, ape-fashion, and cried: "It looks well now, Sahib. Our bridge is all but done. What think you Mother Gunga will say when the rail runs over?"
"She has said little so far. It was never Mother Gunga that delayed us."
"There is always time for her; and none the less there has been delay.
Has the Sahib forgotten last autumn"s flood, when the stone-boats were sunk without warning--or only a half-day"s warning?"
"Yes, but nothing save a big flood could hurt us now. The spurs are holding well on the west bank."
"Mother Gunga eats great allowances. There is always room for more stone on the revetments. I tell this to the Chota Sahib"--he meant Hitchc.o.c.k--"and he laughs."
"No matter, Peroo. Another year thou wilt be able to build a bridge in thine own fashion."
The lascar grinned. "Then it will not be in this way--with stonework sunk under water, as the _Quetta_ was sunk. I like sus-sus-pen-sheen bridges that fly from bank to bank, with one big step, like a gang-plank. Then no water can hurt. When does the Lord Sahib come to open the bridge?"
"In three months, when the weather is cooler."
"Ho! ho! He is like the Burra Malum. He sleeps below while the work is being done. Then he comes upon the quarter-deck and touches with his finger and says: "This is not clean! Jiboon-wallah!""
"But the Lord Sahib does not call me a jiboon-wallah, Peroo."
"No, Sahib; but he does not come on deck till the work is all finished. Even the Burra Malum of the _Nerbudda_ said once at Tuticorin----"
"Bah! Go! I am busy."
"I, also!" said Peroo, with an unshaken countenance. "May I take the light dinghy now and row along the spurs?"
"To hold them with thy hands? They are, I think, sufficiently heavy."
"Nay, Sahib. It is thus. At sea, on the Black Water, we have room to be blown up and down without care. Here we have no room at all. Look you, we have put the river into a dock, and run her between stone sills."